by Eden Myles
“Christ, Charlotte, you feel like coming home,” he groaned as he worked my pussy.
I gasped and clutched his shoulders ever tighter. “Missed you,” I said, embarrassed by my admission.
Something flashed briefly across his face. It looked savage and hungry and perhaps a little vulnerable. He increased his rhythm, pounding against me harder as he took me, claimed me, and I cried out. I could feel his lower muscles contracting. I knew he was close to coming. But now that he was getting what he wanted, he seemed even more animate, bucking wildly inside me and making me squeal from the impacts.
Still, he waited until I came a second time—came screaming and muffling my voice against the front of his fine cashmere suit—before leaning down to seize the side of my neck in his teeth. The sensation stilled my body, shattered my misgivings, made me wholly his so I didn’t care what he did to me. He held me fast and I whimpered as I came a third and final time, and only then did Lachlan bury his cock to the root inside me and empty his balls while my cunt clenched around him and milked him clean.
He collapsed upon me, kissing his bite, and said, “I missed you too, Charlotte. And I can’t wait to start training you in earnest.”
***
The following day, the precinct got an anonymous tip about an underage porn site. It took our tech people about an hour to trace the knot of virtually “untraceable” IP’s back to one of Vinnie Castellano’s studios. By lunchtime, Roddy and I had brought in the head honcho himself on a charge of child pornography. Now he was sitting in a holding cell, waiting for his legion of lawyers to descend upon us, not that it was going to do him much good. It wasn’t his head on a silver platter just yet, but we were getting there. I admit I was a little impressed that Lachlan had kept his word.
“Can you believe this shit?” Roddy said with a huge grin after we were done booking the big man. “Two scumbags in two days. It’s turning into a regular red-letter week for the 63rd Precinct.”
I nodded as we returned to our desks where the chief had deposited two huge files on Castellano. Our next job was to try and stick more charges to his ass before his arraignment. If we could do it, the judge was more likely to set his bail high and poor Vinnie would be stuck like his nephew, a rat in a cage. We all knew the longer the two of them stewed, the better the chance they’d turn state’s evidence on each other. “I just hope our luck sticks.”
“Why wouldn’t it? I mean, this is how they got Capone, remember. It was minor shit that came back around to bite him on his fat ass.” Roddy frowned over the files—no doubt looking for small details. After all, it was tax evasion that ultimately brought down Capone’s empire. He tapped his pen against his teeth, a habit I hated but knew he only did when he was annoyed. “I only wish we could stick it to that scumbag Swann.”
“If Swann’s guilty, we’ll find something,” I said, keeping my voice modulated to reveal nothing.
“If?” Roddy said, his voice rising even above the hubbub of the precinct, the suspects coming and going, the chief barking out orders, the bullpen frothing with activity. “What do you mean if, Charlie? The guy’s the fucking devil himself.”
I glanced up at my partner sitting at his desk across from me, trying not to bristle. Saying Lachlan was the devil was a bit overdramatic, in my opinion. “Well, he hasn’t technically been found guilty of anything yet.”
“Innocent until proven guilty bullshit? You know he’s guilty as hell, Charlie. How many kids rip off convenient stores with one of Lachlan’s guns?”
I nodded in response, trying not to point out that neither of us was a supporter of gun control and what he was saying was basically contradictory. It might be a cliché, but it wasn’t guns that killed people—it was other people. Bad people. But then I remembered that Roddy’s own dad had been a convenient store clerk before some kid blew him away with an illegally purchased gun. It was the reason Roddy was a damned good cop. Like me, he knew the job mattered. But just like me, Roddy’s reason were personal.
Well, I reflected, in the end it’s all personal, isn’t it?
He was right, I reminded myself. Lachlan was a bad guy. We just hadn’t proven it yet.
And you let a bad guy do unspeakable things to you last night, Charlie, I thought. Suddenly, it seemed I was living in a dream, everything so surreal. I kept shifting around in my seat, my ass still smarting from the spanking Lachlan had dealt me.
It was an acute reminder all through the day, and I had trouble sitting still when the chief called a meeting later in the afternoon explaining how we were going to work with the ATF on collaring the Castellano Crime Family. This shit was big, and getting bigger. Around the time Roddy and I were ready to call it quits around six, my cell went off. I looked at it, saw an email from Lachlan asking for my company tonight. That, too, was also a reminder.
I was fucking sleeping with the enemy. I looked around the precinct, wondering what the other officers would think. Wondering what Roddy would think.
That I was compromising the investigation. That I’d turned traitor. That I was a bad cop.
As I was getting up and reaching for my coat, Roddy came around the desk and said, “You hungry? I was thinking of getting a bite at Mick’s.”
Mick’s was an Irish bar on Brooklyn Avenue. It was also a popular cop hangout. I smiled because I really didn’t want to say no outright to Roddy. “What about Maria? Isn’t she expecting you home?”
Roddy looked reluctant to answer. Then he blurted out suddenly, “She’s gone to her mother’s.”
It took me a moment to digest that…and to read between the lines, which was pretty ironic when I thought about it. In college, I’d been a criminal psyche major. I was supposed to be able to interpret what people were really saying. “Oh,” I said at first, then realized how lame that sounded. I quickly added, “Did Maria…I mean…”
“She left me, yeah. Just didn’t want to drink alone.”
My heart immediately went out to Rodriguez. Any other day and I would have gone out for drinks with him, given him a shoulder to cry on, but I knew Lachlan was waiting back at my apartment. He’d sent me a long email detailing all the things he expected of me. He’d made it pretty clear his invitation was more of an order than anything else. If I didn’t show up on time, he’d probably punish me. I didn’t even want to know how. “I’d go with you if I could, Roddy, but I have someone waiting.”
He grinned. “Charlie Hu got herself a date? A real life…life?”
“Even got laid last night. Imagine that.”
“That’s great!” he said with completely false cheer. “Don’t let me keep you.” He headed for the parking lot, his jacket over one arm.
“Roddy!”
But he waved me off without turning around.
***
There was a two-car pileup on Jerome Avenue. As soon as I saw it, I pulled over and stayed with the drivers involved in the accident until the paramedics arrived. It was my penance for leaving Roddy in an emotional ditch. No one was seriously hurt, but I felt it was important that I divert traffic around the scene of the accident until the ambulance and police got there. As a result, I was fifteen minutes late getting back to my apartment…and Lachlan was already there, parked in the lot behind the building. Shit.
I got out of my car and raced up to my flat to take the fasted shower I’d ever taken in my life. Then, my hair still sopping wet, my clothes wrinkled and sticking to my still-damp body, I walked over to his limo. He rolled down the window, giving me a hard stare.
“There was an accident. Scout’s honor. I stayed until the cops got there.”
I waited for him to reprimand me, but he nodded. “Understandable. Was everyone all right?”
“A little shaken up, but yeah.”
He opened the door and offered me his hand.
I slid into the warm, comforting darkness of the limo and found myself pressed up tight against him. God, I realized I’d been waiting for this all day, counting down the hours. Immediately, all m
y exhaustion left me. “Mad?”
“That you’re a good cop? No. You were doing your job.” He cradled my chin and kissed me. It was the kind of hard, breathing kiss that left me trembling against him.
“We got the tip,” I told him when I could speak again. “You were as good as your word. Thank you, Lachlan.”
“There’ll be more tomorrow…if you make me happy tonight.”
“You’re really all right with putting Castellano away?”
He gave me a soft, lusty look. “I’m really all right with putting Castellano away.”
“What about retribution? I’ve been thinking about that.”
He smiled, then, a real smile. “I can take care of myself, Charlotte. Only you can stop this ride we’re on.”
“I don’t want to do that.” I indicated the limo. “I don’t want to mess up what we have going on.”
“Yes,” he said, sounding sad as we pulled out for parts unknown. “What we have going on.”
***
“I hope you’re not too hungry,” he said as we headed uptown.
I sat with my arms around his waist. “I won’t die of starvation, if that’s what you mean.” I sat up a little. “What do you mean?”
“I have reservations for dinner, but I would like to make a stop first and pick you up a few things.”
I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that. “Such as?”
He smirked in the dark. “You’ll see.”
Eventually we pulled into the back lot of a closed boutique. I almost said something, but he guided me to the back door and produced a key card for an electronic lock.
“Do you own this place?”
“No, but it belongs to the Society. That is, gentleman and courtesans are allowed to shop here anytime they like.”
“Even with it being closed?”
He looked down at me from his great height. “We trust each other.”
“So you’ve never been tempted?”
“What’s that?”
“With knocking the place over.”
He frowned with insult. “The Society trusts me, Charlotte. They’re the first group of men who haven’t judged me based on my past. Why would I undermine their trust like that?”
Lachlan had changed, I realized. The teenaged Lachlan I had known would have had no qualms about ripping off a pooh-pooh place like this. The new Lachlan seemed so much more…mature, somehow.
Soon we were inside and Lachlan had flipped on the lights and was guiding me down the long, neatly labeled aisles. It was one of those pricey shops where they sold dresses without size tags. I saw a lot of Vera Wang and Versace gowns in sizes that were probably double zeroes, made for models and celebrities. I was slender, but not shapely, with a bust size better suited to a twelve-year-old boy. I seriously doubted I would fit right in anything here. It was one of the many reasons I had stopped wearing dresses and gowns.
“I want my courtesan to look appropriate,” Lachlan explained as he picked through several racks before settling on a very short blue dress with one of those asymmetrical fringe hems. “You would look beautiful in this.”
“It looks…brief.”
“It’ll fit. Follow me.”
I followed him to the dressing rooms. “I don’t get to choose what I wear?”
“I don’t trust your tastes.” He smiled to show he was teasing. “You wore knee socks with your high heels in high school.”
“Everyone wore those,” I protested, but he turned and placed a finger to my lips, then started to undress me.
“Hush. I want to dress you. Play with you. Let me.”
I let him undress me the way he had the night before. He stripped me down to my skin, his eyes lingering over my erect nipples as he undid the zipper of the dress and fitted it over my head. It fit snugly, but it did fit. Once I was zipped up, he fetched me black fishnet corset stockings and black, patent leather pumps with four-inch heels. No underwear. He went down on one knee and pulled up each stocking, slid on and buckled each shoe.
“Where did you learn to dress a woman?” I teased. “Margo, again?”
“My friend Ian Sterling. He’s very good at complimenting a woman’s coloring.”
“Another Society friend.” He slid his hands up my calf. “I’m getting a draft in all the wrong places, Lachlan.”
“You look beautiful,” he said. “Very sensual and feminine. Like a little Dresden doll.”
I hadn’t worn a dress and heels in years. “I can’t walk in these.”
“Try.” He stood up and offered me his arm.
I took it, letting him guide me into another part of the store. Here there were cosmetic supplies and perfume, something else I seldom wore.
I looked blindly at the countless shelves of product. I couldn’t even figure out the purpose of a lot of it. How pathetic was that?
“Take whatever you like, no matter how expensive,” Lachlan said. “The Society will put it on my account.”
“I don’t need you buying me things, Lachlan. I’m not here for that.”
He sighed with his customary exasperation. “Let me. I want to.”
I hovered. I didn’t know what I liked. I hadn’t worn makeup since high school. I was too busy and too poor in college, and it was generally frowned upon to arrive to class at the Police Academy made up. If I had to attend a formal function, like the annual Policeman’s Ball, I usually wore a dark suit or a conservative sheath dress, and maybe a touch of pink lipstick. I looked things over, choosing only a little mascara and a lipstick I thought was nice. I wasn’t brave enough to try anything else.
Happily, Lachlan didn’t push for more. He let me do my best with the cosmetics. “You look perfect,” he said, guiding me before a full-length mirror. He stood behind me so I was completely framed by his large, dark outline. With the dress and heels and makeup, I looked like a totally different person. I wasn’t sure Roddy and the rest of my precinct buddies would even recognize me if they were here to see me. Lachlan chose a large, soft brush to comb out the wild tangles of my dark hair. “How do you feel, Charlotte?”
“Pretty,” I said. He had made me feel pretty. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt that.
“There’s other shopping to do,” he said, offering his arm.
I couldn’t think what else I needed, but I took it. He led me to a different section of the store where aisles of suspect products waited. I’d busted enough seedy places downtown in my time as a beat cop to recognize sex toys. I looked around this new section of the boutique, not sure what to make of it. It was more than a little intimidating.
“I don’t know about this, Lachlan.”
“Do you want to please me?”
“Sure.” I stood beside him nervously as he looked over a number of unusual, chainlike pieces of jewelry hanging from a long display rod. I didn’t think they were jewelry, though. He finally selected a long gold chain with two rather nasty looking alligator clips at either end.
He turned to me and kissed me while a hand moved with snakelike precision into the décolletage of my dress and cupped my left breast. He held it tightly like it belonged to him, pinched the nipple until I moaned against his lips. That’s when he attached the first nasty nipple clamp. I whimpered and he said, “Shhh,” against my lips.
I squirmed against him, the sharp, maddening pain driving a spike of unbelievable sensation down into the wet and vulnerable place between my legs. When he did the same thing to my right nipple, I had to cross my legs against the pressure building between them. “Lachlan, please…”
He chuckled, took the chain in his thumb and forefinger and gave it a short, teasing tug that left me breathless. “You’ll need to use the safeword if you want me to stop. Though, frankly, I enjoy seeing you like this.”
“Humiliated?”
“Vulnerable. Aching for release. But you mustn’t come. Not until I say.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair. But you play the game anyway.” He pull
ed me against him and looped his arm around my back. He kissed me in that way that left me quivering like gelatin in his arms. He tugged on the chain and I cried out against his lips. “Come along…but don’t come.”
We walked further down the aisle—he confidently, me trying to compartmentalize the throbbing pain, pressure and pleasure racing through my breasts and into my quivering cunt. Here there were things that I had no name for—frightening things that looked more like torture devices than toys. We stopped and Lachlan said, “Pick something, Charlotte.”
I looked at the shelves of strange products with names like Sounding Rods, Bullet Vibrators, and Horseshoes. I thought I had seen it all; I hadn’t. I couldn’t really think straight, which is probably why I chose the decorative gold and red box with the Chinese ideograms on it. It looked pretty and innocuous.
“Excellent choice,” he said, and took the box from the shelf. Inside were two very heavy, stainless steel balls that he placed in my hands. They were hollow but I could feel the considerable weights inside rolling around. I felt my stomach drop a little. I wasn’t so naïve to not know Ben Wa balls when I saw them.
He took them and went down on one knee, lifting the too-short skirt of my dress. “Lachlan, please…” I begged, contemplating our safeword for the first time. He must have sensed my distress because he paused and looked up at me.
“Do you trust me, Charlotte?”
“I don’t know!” I was already writhing from the throbbing ache in my breasts. I wasn’t sure I could stand more stimulation.
“Do you trust me not to hurt you?” he asked instead.
“Yes.” I didn’t have to think about that one.
“Brace your hands on my shoulders.”
I did as he asked, resting my weight against the broadness of his shoulders. He spread my legs, his fingers teasing over my already sopping wet slit. “You’re wet already. Good girl. This will be very easy for you.” He parted my pussy lips and inserted two fingers, gently rubbing over the spot he knew made me writhe and dance. I had to work to keep from rocking my hips against him, to grind myself against his fingers.